Just Can't Walk Away
by Pilla Jeffrey
Summary: He wrote a book about a girl who wants the world and a boy who wants to give it to her, but they pass like two ships in the night. Dan and Blair.  A trio of vignette trios.  COMPLETE.
1. Part One

**TITLE: **Just Can't Walk Away**  
AUTHOR: **tvconnoisseur**  
CATEGORY: **Angst, Drama**  
CHARACTER/PAIRING: **Dan/Blair (Chuck/Blair, Dan/Serena)**  
SPOILERS: **Up to 4x11**  
RATING: **PG-13**  
CONTENT WARNINGS: **language, brief sex**  
SUMMARY: **_She doesn't love him, but she could if she let herself._ **  
DISCLAIMER: **I do not own _Gossip Girl_.**  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: **DUDE, I DARE TO DAIR LIKE I DON'T CARE (but I do, obviously). I stopped watching the show in Season 2 and this is the first storyline that's epic enough to bring me back. A trio of vignette trios. Lyrics and title from _Jimmy Eat World_'s "Kill".**  
**

* * *

**Part One**

_Funny how I'm nervous still  
I've always been the easy kill  
I guess I'll always be_

**i.**

Blair Waldorf relishes being in control. Not that anyone would have guessed otherwise; it is, perhaps, her most defining trait.

There is such an inevitability to Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck. Blair had found a sense of control in that inevitability once upon a time-she had made a man love her and he would love her forever-but now it feels hot under the collar and her breath catches in her chest and her whole body shakes because even though Chuck has ripped her heart out, she knows one day she will go back for more.

She consoles herself with thoughts that Chuck will grow up and then they will meet again and there will be no tears and lies and heartbreak. Even if Chuck stays the same Chuck, at least she will inevitably become professionally successful with her own undeniable propensity for greatness. Of that, she is certain-even if she has to do it saddled with that bumbling idiot Dan Humphrey.

An unholy union with Dan Humphrey is not inevitable to Blair, but she deals with this twist of fate the best she can. Blair avoids noticing their similarities-drive, judgment, being in love with someone that made you feel inconsequential-and focuses purely on how he's ruining her life. He politely does the same.

Unfortunately, their like natures get the best of them and suddenly Blair finds herself kicked out of the _W_ party with frizzed hair and a disheveled Dan Humphrey by her side. They had really screwed that one up. She would like to blame it all on Dan, but there she was too, letting pettiness get in the way of destiny. Now both of them are left without an internship or a future.

(Powerful Woman and Next Great American Author had seemed as inevitable as Chuck and Blair and Serena and Dan, but apparently they had overestimated those as well.)

She refuses to cry in front of Dan Humphrey, but she has no problem getting drunk with him. He matches her shot for shot. They don't talk about what happened.

She feels like she's spinning out of control and the alcohol, instead of making her feel better, is only making her feel worse. She needs to hold onto something that will keep her grounded, something to keep her from falling apart.

She tells herself this as she leans in and kisses him-he wouldn't dare kiss her; he's completely guileless and understands enough of girl code that he should not kiss his ex's best friend. He doesn't taste like hate or love, but control.

(Control to her has always tasted like curdled pumpkin pie.)

She stops kissing him the moment he starts kissing her back.

**ii.**

Blair Waldorf has always been second to Serena van der Woodsen. Second in command at Constance, second best for Nate Archibald, second choice for Yale. And now she has the unfortunate honor of being second once again to Serena, this time in the eyes of Dan Humphrey.

There was a brief amount of time where Blair thought maybe Dan was it for her. It wasn't a serious thought; it was more of a passing notion, really, one that lasted as long as a flicker of tongue against lips. After all, he isn't anything she's ever wanted or expected. But he snarks at her without hurting her and supports her without suffocating her. For once in her life, she actually feels beautiful, clever, and respected. She doesn't love him, but she could if she let herself.

(She would never let herself.)

Dan explains it as his _one last chance with Serena_ and that he _has to know_ and Blair doesn't say that she already knows how this is going to end because it's ended the same way so many times before. She brushes off the idea that he even needs to justify his choice to her-an impulsive kiss in the dark and a season of French films do not a relationship make-and wishes him luck. After all-"You'll need it."

"We're still friends?" he asks and she realizes that her answer is actually important to him.

"We never were."

She has sex with Chuck that night. She cries and he doesn't say anything.

**iii.**

Serena van der Woodsen upgrades from socialite to movie star and from Brooklyn Boy to Academy Award winner. Dan never saw it coming, which is laughable. Blair sometimes wonders how the boy functions when he's so obviously mentally handicapped. After all, he's a published author. Someone thought he had enough cogs moving in his head to share said cogs with the rest of the world.

"I should have known," he declares.

"You should have," she responds, though not unkindly.

Chuck is away on business-not that he has ever expected anything from Dan Humphrey, least of all the balls to steal his fiancée-but Blair still feels powerful greeting the poor little Lonely Boy in their Bass/Waldorf penthouse. _This is what you gave up_, the apartment says. _This is what you got instead_, his heartbreak answers.

There's no reason for him to be here of all places-Nate lives nearby, Vanessa's a subway ride away-but he looks at her eyes and her lips and the floor and his voice stumbles. "They're playing _Cyrano de Bergerac_. I thought you might like to go."

She's seen it already, of course. Chuck had watched the first twenty minutes before he "had to field a business call" (she judges him only slightly for coming up with such a tired excuse). Just a year ago, Dan would have known that-hell, he would have spared Chuck the trip. But she and Dan haven't talked in anything more than formalities since his whirlwind reunion with Serena. They were only good together in spite of Serena-or maybe to spite her.

In this moment, Blair is perfectly in control and painfully aware of being in second place to Serena's shiny hair and effortless spark. She can and should toss Dan Humphrey out the door, make him stew in regret for the rest of his life. He'll probably get a book out of it. Really, she'd be doing him a favor.

"Let me get my coat."


	2. Part Two

A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I wrote this part and the next part back in February, but didn't get around to uploading it until now. Continuity diverges from the _W_ party (No Louis!). This part alternates with Part One.

* * *

**Part Two**

_Leave while there's still hope for escape_

_Gotta take what you can these days_

_There's so much ahead-_

_So much regret._

**i.**

Dan Humphrey is a judgmental ass. Not that anyone would have guessed otherwise; it is, perhaps, his most defining trait.

He would argue it's not a bad quality at all. He's a self-proclaimed discerner of taste, whether it comes from his literary assessments or his moral ones. It's something that makes him better than the Upper East Side snobs he went to school with, something that will lead to great success as a writer when he can cut characters down as easily he can cut down people in real life.

Not that his cold and critical eye was always for the best. There were times when his mouth would get ahead of him and his words would rip others to shreds and ruin everything. No matter how much he worshipped Serena van der Woodsen, he couldn't help himself from picking apart her perfect world and her almost mindless view on life. He dreaded her trembling lip, but at the same time was high on it—taste, morality, truth: these were the things he knew better than Serena and he wanted her to know it. And for the most part, she would take it.

No one really challenged his grandiose ideas, not in a serious manner. Jenny would roll her eyes and Vanessa would offer critiques, but not criticism. So it wasn't really until Blair Waldorf wielded her own patented brand of verbal jujitsu on him that he realized that he might not be as enlightened as he had thought.

Blair doesn't give a crap about his feelings and to her, the only right is her right. Dan found that off-putting in the beginning, but he warmed up to the challenge quickly. After all, what's the worth of an untested idea? He didn't trust her farther than he could throw her, but she was a worthy adversary, the devil to Dan's angel on Serena's shoulders.

At least, he thought so before he purposefully screwed her over and she, the Queen of Mean, was the one to keep the truce. He thought he knew Blair, but maybe he doesn't. Maybe, despite her penchant for bon mots, she's not evil.

(Even without doing anything, Blair proves his judgments wrong.)

It may just be the alcohol talking or the guilt of screwing her over, but Dan can't stop staring at Blair. She's brilliant and ruthless and Dan feels like he's with a woman on the precipice of something more. And when he's with her, he feels like _he's_ on the precipice of something more: a blade of grass about to break through the coldest snow.

When she kisses him, he falls straight over the precipice into the ocean below.

**ii.**

Dan Humphrey has always been an outsider. To be quite honest, it's not something that bothered him that much growing up. If anything, it was something he could use to validate his art—truly, the most meaningful artists were those who were outsiders and outcasts, were they not? They were perceptive observers of the human condition who were forced to experience the worst of humanity.

Even admiring Serena from afar seemed to be the next natural step in his outsider journey of always watching but never participating. But then suddenly he found himself caught up in her effervescent kisses and against all odds, he, the outsider, became one of the insiders.

Well, sort of. People knew his name and he got invited to parties (well, he as Serena van der Woodsen's "plus one" got invited), but he still never managed to crack into the unholy Upper East Side union of Serena, Blair, Nate, and Chuck. A part of Serena always belonged to them and them alone and he could never weasel his way in. It was one of those physical symptoms of their disintegrating relationship.

After breaking up with Serena, he thought he was done with his half-wish to become one of their trusted schemers, but then Blair kissed him and now he doesn't know what he wants. All he knows is that he's once again watching a girl he cares about being pulled away from him by the one association he will never master.

Chuck has a plan that only Blair can implement. (Isn't that always how it is?) It has something to do with saving his company and his reputation and some crap that Dan honestly couldn't care less about. What gets to him is that it's a ruse, and for some reason Blair is falling for it.

Dan refuses to feel jealous. He and Blair aren't together-at times, they're barely friends-but he knows she's getting back into something awful and he won't stand for it.

"Don't do this, Blair."

She turns, eyebrows raised. "Why not, Humphrey?"

There are a million reasons he could use to convince her, but there's only one that would actually mean anything.

He doesn't say it.

(Not because it's not true, but because he's afraid it is.)

**iii.**

He and Serena decide to give it one more go. He thinks why the hell not? They are a fairytale, built on promises and devoted kisses. The princess and the pauper.

When she suggests it—eyelashes sparkling under tearful heartbreak—he doesn't know why his mind slips to Blair and how her lips taste like lemon drops and how she mocks his attempts at French and how he felt his stomach lurch when she got into that limo with Chuck. He just knows that he doesn't like it.

So he says yes to Serena, to fate, to fairytales. He shakes his head free of dark hair and sharp eyes and replaces them with golden tresses and glittering laughs. He's ignoring his better judgment and becoming an insider once again, only this time as the plus one to the wrong girl.

When he tells Blair, he wants her to say something. Insult him. Insult Serena. Tell him he can do better. Tell him that her kissing him was not a moment of weakness but that it meant something. They're playing a game of chicken together and he doesn't want to give in.

He forgot that she would never give in.


	3. Part Three

A/N: As always, thank you for the reviews! I'm glad you've liked my little character study, even though it's a touch confusing. This is the last trio of vignettes (although it is certainly not the end of the story ;) ). I actually wrote most of it back in February and was surprised how much actually applied to the finale. I tried my best to follow all the threads to their natural conclusions and we arrive there bittersweetly. Enjoy!

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**Part Three**

_I know what you wanna say_

_I know it but can't help feeling differently_

_I loved you and I should've said it_

_But tell me just what has it ever meant?_

**i.**

Chuck returns from abroad and Blair doesn't return Dan's phone calls anymore. Not that Dan expected more—okay, maybe he did—but it still feels like his heart is rambling a thousand miles away and he can't hold it back and stop it from being smashed to bits.

He gets glimpses of the wedding plans from Lily and Eleanor's meetings. He comes up the elevator, sees them on the couch, hears a snippet of "Blair would never stand for even a sprinkle of baby's breath", and then locks himself in his room.

He keeps telling himself that he should just stay at the loft in Brooklyn, but as much as he hates to admit it, he lives for those snippets. He needs to hear about Blair, know that she exists and know that she has chosen Chuck. It's the tortured artist part of him.

One night, he finishes meeting with his agent—_No offense, Daniel, but your work is becoming trite_—and heads up the elevator. When the door opens, he's struck by the sound of refined, yet earthy laughter echoing from the living room. "Handing out chocolates to the guests. I felt so bad for them."

When he turns the corner, she's sitting there between her mother and his stepmother with a huge smile on her face. She glances up almost immediately and her smile all at once gets larger and then disappears. "Humphrey."

"Blair." He gestures at the magazine layouts on the coffee table. "How goes the wedding planning?"

"Without a hitch," she states, face unchanging.

"Except for that horrible caterer," Eleanor offers, laughing. "Cheeseburger sliders. Oy vey!"

"Oh, Daniel," Lily murmurs. "Your father made some chili if you're hungry. It's still in the pot on the stove."

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry." He looks from Lily (smiling) to Eleanor (thoughtful) to Blair (blank). "Well, I guess I should leave you ladies back to your planning. Remember that I look best in red." It's a bad joke, considering he and Jenny have been ever-so-tactfully excluded from the bridal party.

Eleanor and Lily politely laugh, but Blair just continues to stare at him. She opens her mouth to say something, but she closes it before any words escape her lips.

The words rattle in his chest anyway.

He barricades himself in his room and for the first time in months, he sits down at his computer and can't stop typing.

**ii.**

Despite her Hollywood haunts, Serena at least makes an effort to remember her roots. She still claims Blair as her best friend, even though it's more tell now than show.

They grab coffee on the Upper East Side. Serena asks the requisite questions about Blair's upcoming nuptials, but, as always, the topic of conversation returns to Serena soon enough. She talks about how she can't seem to pick the right dress for the Golden Globes and why it's so unfair that her new boyfriend didn't get nominated this year.

"I think he's mad at me."

"It's not your fault he didn't get nominated. He should have starred in a movie about the Holocaust or cancer or something else that panders to the sobbing masses."

Serena flicks her hand. "No, not—I mean Dan. I think Dan's mad at me."

They haven't talked about Dan since Serena broke his heart for the final time. (Blair would never bring him up as a conversation topic.) "Oh?"

"He wrote a book," Serena clarifies. "I haven't read it yet. Nate says it's pretty damning."

Blair sips her coffee. "Really?"

"Yeah. Apparently he made me into some rich bitch who reigns over Manhattan with an iron fist. He calls me—oh, what did Nate say—'An evil dictator of taste'." Serena sighs and Blair blanches. "That's a bit melodramatic, right?"

"Very," Blair concedes. Her body feels uneven. "But you know Humphrey. His writing is as atrocious as his attempts at fashion sense and common decorum."

Fifteen minutes later, Blair claims she has a headache that she needs to sleep off. Serena nods with enough concern and tells her that they'll catch up again when she's back in town for fashion week.

Blair rushes into the nearest bookstore and finds the book tucked under Fiction. She opens the cover, her fingers trembling on the page. Her heart won't stop racing even after she slams the book shut and shoves it under her bed.

**iii.**

The Bass-Waldorf wedding is one for the century. Blair looks ethereal and Chuck...well, Chuck looks Chuck-like, pink accents and all.

Dan is surprised he's even invited, to be honest. Of course he had to be invited—Chuck is his stepbrother after all—but he's still surprised.

He asked Vanessa to come with him, but she blushed and told him she's already going with Nate. Dan dismissed whatever jealousy he should feel—really, what are they, seventeen?—and decided it was better to go stag than with someone he barely knew. He didn't want to be that transparent.

Blair stands center and just behind her is Serena. Blair was not vindictive enough to force Serena into a hideous gown (not that it would help) and Dan knows objectively that most people would say that Serena is outshining the bride. But Blair stands in a beautiful white dress with her trademark ramrod precision with those eyes that betray her perfectly cultivated sense of control. She is the statue of Venus with humanity just beginning to burst through the marble.

(If Serena is a princess, Blair is a goddess.)

She looks content enough, with the same sort of glassy eyes she always wears around Chuck—half tears of sadness, half tears of joy. He can't help but think that once, he saw those eyes alight with true happiness. (Maybe happiness wasn't enough without the pain.) Dan wishes that for just one moment, her eyes would leave Chuck's and find his in the pews.

Dan wrote a book about a girl who wants the world and a boy who wants to give it to her, but they pass like two ships in the night. The _New York Times_ called it a brilliant rumination on the modern caste system while _Cosmopolitan_ declared it the most romantic novel since _The Notebook_. Everyone thinks it's about Serena (maybe it is, a little). Nate asks him why he made Serena so mean. Vanessa jokes that making his protagonist a brunette instead of a blonde really doesn't hide anything. Serena still has yet to read it, but he doubts she will. (Thanksgiving was awkward enough without her reading it.)

Blair, he knows, will never read it. She doesn't have time for mortals with manuscripts anymore.

The inevitable arrives with an exchange of vows and rings and kisses. Dan refuses to look away, but when they are announced as Mr. and Mrs. Chuck Bass, he doesn't have enough self-loathing to clap along with the crowd. He has never felt more like an outsider.

The reception starts soon enough. Serena's there with her new beau, all chiseled cheekbones and piercing eyes, not that anyone could tell with the way she's flirting with Aaron Rose (they really must be seventeen again). Dan is surprised by how much he doesn't care.

The receiving line is long and he almost doesn't get in it. Knowing his luck, he'd miss the best part of the cocktail hour and all of the mini quiche would be gone. But he catches a glimpse of Blair's smile and realizes this may be his last moment. (He can't ask her to dance and she wouldn't say yes, so it's a moot point.)

He offers Chuck a firm handshake ("Lily made me invite you") and offers Blair the same. She looks down at his hand like she doesn't know what she wants to do with it. He drops his hand and pushes it into his pockets. "You look beautiful, Blair," he admits.

"I always do, Humphrey." She shifts, straightening. "It was nice of you to forgo the flannel for once. Your shoes are even half-decent."

"After all these years in the inner circle of the Evil Dictator of Taste, it's good to know I've picked something up." Her face flickers at the title, a mix of fondness and unease. Dan coughs. Maybe she did read it.

"Everything turned out as it was meant to," he offers.

"Yes," she answers shortly, but her gaze lingers, dark.

He is probably misjudging this entire exchange—it wouldn't be the first time he did that with Blair—but his chest is on fire. He glimpses over at Chuck. Chuck is distracted by Jack, who is taking this opportunity to talk business. It's his last moment to confess. He leans in.

His whole life he's hidden behind words on a page. The page is better anyway. "There she stands, his Upper East Side goddess, tongue of wit and gaze of ice, her lips like the first tulip trying to burst through the winter frost. When he looks at her, he knows."

He can feel her form soften against him—Venus come to life. When she speaks at last, she continues the passage: "Just because it never bloomed doesn't mean it wasn't there."

Her breath is hot against his neck and when he pulls away, her eyes are sparkling. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course," he responds. "Congratulations."

There's a moment and then she's swept away by her Great Aunt Miriam who insists that Blair must give her the name of her make-up artist.

Dan doesn't stay for dinner, but he leaves a card.

(Spring is coming.)

* * *

_You kill me, you build me up, but just to watch me break_

_I know what I should do, but I just can't walk away..._


End file.
